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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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CLASS POEM. 




IIARVA.III3 COLLEOE, 



M D C C C L Y I I , 



Irintelr for |lrilJiite Sisttibuti^n. 



NEW YORK: 

ROBERT M A G Y , PRINTER. 

18 51. 



CLASS POEM 



H^RV^RD COLLEQE, 



MDCCCLVII 



X 



IrintCiT for |rili'dte gistrihttion, 




NEW YORK: 
ROBERT MACOY, PRINTER, 



185*1 



A WORD WITH THE READER. 



The favor with which this little production was received at the time of its 
delivery, and the solicitation of several friends for copies, must account for this 
matter of print. 

I have hesitated some time about the expediency of this private distribution 
even, for what may do very well for delivery, is not necessarily worthy of pub- 
lication. I am conscious, too, that the kindness with which my performance 
was received on Class-day, was owing, in a great degree, to the generous feel- 
ings of young men, class-mates, about to separate, the sympathy of our friends, 
and the interest of both in the occasion ; propitious influences lost in type. 
And as the little work was hurriedly prepared, without the remotest intention 
of its ever seeing the light, there are many passages not carefully finished, 
which I would rather improve than see as they are, others that I would erase 
altogether ; but as no such alterations can be made without materially depart- 
ing from the original form, it has been thought best to print the whole as it 
was delivered. 

The only departure from this rule has been the few lines enclosed in brackets, 
which were not spoken, as the gentleman to whom they refer was of the 
audience. There certainly is no impropriety in their holding their original 
place here, as they embody, however feebly, the unanimous sentiment of the 
class. 

My little poem— if, ex officio, I may so dignify it— is offered, then, not so 

much as a literary effort as a memorial of the happy days that have gone by ; 

the pleasant recollections and cherished friendships, of which, I trust, are not 

to end 

Till this heart is cold, and this eye is dim. 

Washington City, D. C, Aug. 19, 1857. 



CLASS POEM. 



Where, between two heaving oceans, continents on either hand, 
Stretching far to north, far southward, range on range of huge 

peaks stand 
Firm as giant warriors, waiting for the end of earth and time. 
When the waters shall o'erpower in a ruin most sublime. 
Mountain, continent and island, sweep away the race of men, — 
Biding but such dreadful summons stand the peaks of Darien : 
There, from a bleak, barren summit, thrice a hundred years ago, 
Vasco Nunez de Balboa saw the ocean roll below. 

Grouped behind him were his comrades, flower and chivalry 
of Spain, 
Clutching at the glittering visions that beguile the dazzled brain, 
Seeking greater riches than the prizes they have won afford. 
Continents are left behind them for some future spoiler's sword ; 
Nothing less than all the wealth an El Dorado's plains can boast 
Is a conquest worth the winning to this fierce, gold-craving host. 
El Dorado, El Dorado ! with the hope they first set out ; 
El Dorado, El Dorado ! on the weary march they shout. 
El Dorado ! to the comrade who worn out sinks down, they cry, 
And the words light up the dimness of his glazed and dying eye. 
Firm amid the thousand perils of their weary search for gold. 
Stern, fanatical, and cruel, iron men, insensate, cold. 



6 

Though no El Dorado greet tliem, nor less gain their hearts 

content, 
Yet there stand they in amazement, silent in their wonderment. 
For, beyond the wooded valleys that unscanned below them lie, 
These new waters stretch before them, bluer than the cloud- 
less sky, 
Spreading wider in the distance, rising high beneath the west, 
Where the overarching heavens on the wall of water rest. 
Vainly doth the eager Spaniard shade his brow with sun-burnt 

hand, 
Vainly scan the blue horizon, with eyes straining for the land, 
Only the clear, glistening waters shimmer in the morning Hght, 
Till the wearied eye, and dazzled, ceased to climb the liquid 

height ; 
But the salt sea-breezes, whispering of their distant ocean birth, 
Tell thy secret, Pacific, circling half the teeming earth ! 

As those men of iron temper gazed upon the tranquil blue, 
In their minds their varied fortunes all were passing in review, 
All their trials and privations since the day they left fair 

Spain, — 
Days of fear, and nights of watching on the Atlantic's stormy 

main. 
Seasons of privation, suffering, weary marches, hunger, thirst. 
While disputing long their progress, dogged their footsteps from 

the first ; 
All the frightful scenes of horror in the wilds of the new world, — 
Sadly written in their losses since their banner was unfurled : 
And the scarred bloodhound before them, — as he stretched him 

in the sun. 
Dreaming, may be, of those conflicts where he was a fore- 
most one, — 



Brought to mind their savage triumphs o'er the weak, defence- 
less men, 
Heathen, soulless, forest-devils — so they seemed to Chris- 
tians then ! — 
Yet, in face of all the terrors the invader's rage awoke. 
These in most unequal contest bared their bosoms to the stroke. 
But the Spaniard recks not of these slaughtered hundreds 
of his foe — 
The eye that for a moment ghstens, moistens, for a friend 

laid low, 
Gloom comes o'er his darkened visage, — all this labor, was 

it vain ? 
And shall disappointment waft him empty-handed back to Spain? 

Quickly fades his gloom, for ocean, placid as an inland lake. 
Promises so fair an offering, all his former fancies wake, 
All his visions float before him, and in revery he sees 
Bright successes that await him, days of luxury and ease, 
When his brilliant conquests over, and his fame and fortune 

won. 
No one richer, no one mightier will the heavens look down 

upon. 
Pomp, Magnificence and Honor, wait attendant in his train, 
Vasco Nunez de Balboa is already first in Spain ! 
With a shout of joy he pointed to the calm, unruffled sea, 
" This, my comrades, is the ocean — let its name Pacific be — 
Never vexed with ruthless tempests, never lashed by howling 

wind; 
Never to the trusting sailor will its bosom prove unkind. 
For its peaceful waters never rouse them from their tranquil 



And the goal of all our wanderings is the jewel that they keep ! " 



Then upon that barren summit, whence each year the melting 

snows 
Seek, on one slope, that wide ocean, mingle else where Carib 

flows, 
Loud the ghostly father chanted, moved within by pious zeal, 
The holy song of Christian triumph — the Te Deum all can feel ! 

We, to day, have gained a summit whence a prospect fair we 

view. 
Bright as that the Spaniard saw in those tranquil de23ths of 

blue — 
All the future spread before us, worlds as yet untried and new : 

Gained a summit whence are seen the crowns and prizes of the 

earth ; 
All the giddy dreamy visions to which Hope has given birth, 
Schemes of fame and schemes of fortune, idle most, yet some of 

worth. 

All the various ambitions that men to their bosoms clasp — 
Happy if they're not deluded, even till the dying gasp — 
All that to ourselves we've promised seems at length within our 
grasp. 

One already sees his toil done, revels in his wealth and leisure ; 
One already builds a bower, where to dwell with his heart's 

treasure ; 
One, without a worthy aim, begins the weary quest of pleasure ; 

One, already in the Senate, lists to plaudits, long and loud ; 



Or to catcli his words, tlie people to the hall of justice crowd ; 
One surveys his well- tilled acres, of his flocks is rightly proud; 

One to Learning's service dedicates with joy his manly years ; 
One devotes his strength to guiding sufferers, blinded with their 

tears, 
Rouse the slumbering soul to danger, smooth the dying pillow's 

fears. 



Is the prospect fair before us, that the present hours disclose ? 
Let us then be mindful ever 'tis an ocean in repose ! 






Some years of childhood, with its smiles and sobs, 
Whose heart as gaily with each pleasure throbs, 
As with each grief its soft eye quickly fills, 
Or as swift cloud-flecks drift o'er distant hills ; 
Boyhood, with all its shouts, and fun, and play. 
When, with its sports, each was a holiday. 
When mere existence was itself a joy — 
Ah ! 'tis an ecstacy to be a boy ! 
Then the new life that opens with the day. 
When first from home the youth is torn away. 
Till seasons shorten, and the school-days past, 
He's found in our blue catalogue at last ; 
Four years, howe'er each spend them, rich to each- 
Something of wisdom college-life must teach, — 
The birth of taste, the pleasures that we find 
In the new-cultured powers of the mind. 
If books neglected lie, in knowing men — 
For our best teachers are our class-mates then — 



10 

Yet swift and soft these gentle years soon pass, 
As doth the vapor breathed upon the gLass, 
Though Hngering still, of college-matters fond, 
Finding to-day we've scarcely looked beyond, 
There lies before us all the struggle rough, 
The smile of welcome, or the harsh rebuff". 
With which a heedless world shall meet us when 
We strive for places with our fellow men : 
Some gain success, while gaunt adversity 
Shall harry others till they wearied die: 
Joys, griefs and sorrows crowd around us thick, 
Make the heart glad, or wound it to the quick ; 
Home, with its loves, or cordial friendship, ties 
The heart to Earth, till Earth's a Paradise ; 
But breaks the bond, as some dear form we love. 
When taken from us, leads our thoughts above. 
A little while, and one by one we fall. 
Till the kind Earth at length receives us all. 
A little time — our history is told. 
And dark oblivion o'er us shall be rolled. 
The world toil onward in its wonted way. 
Nor any know of us that pass away, — 
xlll this comes flooding o'er me, with the day. 



Childhood, youth, manliness, and death — ; 

Never did Nature take such leaps — 
And to speak thus were wasting breath — 

The tenor of her way she keeps, 
As noiseless as the gliding sand 

Falls through the glass that marks the hours, 



11 



Unbroken as tlie sequence grand, 

Of heat, and fruit, and snows, and flowers : 
And Life flows, as upon tlie shore 

Waves chasing waves, drive in full fast, 
Each mounting higher than before, 

Hides all the traces of the last. 
Till the tide turns, then day by day 

The ebbing powers we mark with doubt, 
Till the loosed spirit speeds away, 

And life ends as the tide goes out. 
We look too little to each day, 

The footsteps of our journey far, 
But wonder at the length of way. 

From what we were to what we are. 

Still are all changes sad, I find ; 

And by a sympathy mysterious. 
All outward things reflect the mind, — 

The slightest cause oft makes us serious. 
Who, at the midnight hour alone. 

Hears the sharp striking of his clock, 
That tells another day has flown, 

But feels a momentary shock? 
As on the electric cord the spark 

Shows only where the circuit 's broken. 
And thus, amid the murky dark. 

Comes flashing on the far-oflP token, — 
So on the chain of days and years, 

Time, subtle fluid, unseen flies, 
'Tis only where a break appears 

It flashes on the dazzled eyes. 



12 

Thus Nature, in a thousand ways, 

The solemn lesson is repeating, 
As oft the solemn thought dismays, 

" What art thou, man, and whither fleeting? 
Who marks the falling of the leaves, 

That yearly sermon Nature preaches, 
Nor in their sure decay, perceives 

A lesson that the heart's depths reaches ? 
Who from his window leans to hear 

The strokes that tell December's fall, 
The merry peals for the New-year 

That ring out from the steeples tall,^ 
But feels his bosom throbbing quick 

With pleasure that 's akin to pain, 
As gentle memories crowd thick 

The presence-chamber of the brain ? 
Sweet memories, softened all by Time, 

O'er such the spirit loves to ponder, 
As doth the ear o'er the New-year's chime 

When sounding from the city yonder. 
Loved shapes come back of each dear friend, 

Whose life was with our own so blended 
That o'er his clay-cold face to bend 

Was to feel that joy for us had ended. 
Such seasons lead us aye to think 

How soon we too at rest may lie, — 
We 're standing always on the brink 

Of the abyss— Eternity ! 
Already has the shadow crossed 

Our pathway short, and left us weeping ! 
For, numbered with the shadowy host. 

Two class-mates 'neath the sod are sleeping. 



13 

Then Avere it strange, if on this day, 

That brings to us so many changes, 
Our thoughts oft turn the sadder way 

And gloom 'mid our rejoicing ranges ? 
If Sadness, Memory's sister-feeling 

In viewing pleasures past for aye, 
Should o'er me now come gently stealing, 3 a ^ 

Like some soul-moving melody ; ' 

If friendships, ne'er to be forgot, 

Should, at this parting drop a tear ; 
Does it seem strange ? Eeprove it not; 

But think what happy days end here. 

Yet surely this is not an hour for gloom. 
This dawn of life that 's opening so bright, 
The very clouds a rosy hue assume. 
Let owls and bats hide them before the light. 
And, by my troth, it is a glorious sight. 
When gallant youth his armor buckles on, 
And bears him forth so boldly to the fight. 
As though the victory were already won. 
And half victorious is ere yet the fight's begun! 

A trumpet sounds, a heavy draw-bridge falls, 
A cortdge, gleaming in its rich array, 
Comes slowly from an ancient castle's walls 
That in the morning sunlight seem less gray. 
The steeds step eagerly along the way. 
Champ on their bits and snuff the morning air 
Their riders, calm, yet eager for the fray. 
Demurely sit as though beset by care, 
Scowl down their inward joy, and gloomy faces wear. 



14 

Their armor flashes in the morning sun 
As though its temper not a glance could brook, 
Their pennons flaunt defiance every one, 
Their lances have a fierce and angry look, 
I fear me little thought the riders took 
Of dust and blood with which they should be sprent, 
When from the dripping leaves the dews they shook, 
And rain in mimic showers was o'er them sent, 
As 'ueath the drooping boughs and greenwood trees they went. 

These men, in warlike harnesses complete. 
Unmoved their features, nor with outward pride, 
Save up their vigor for the battle's heat. 
Yet firmly seated in their saddles ride 
Trusting their fortune to their weapons tried. 
On any crisis resolute and bold, 
Calmly they wait and let the eve decide, 
Whether they sup, or lifeless lie and cold ; 
Thus through the warlike world their onward course they hold. 

Years told by hundreds have filled all the moats, 
Draw-bridge and turret have been long overthrown, 
No more the broken walls shall hear the notes 
So loud and clear from warder's trumpet blown ; 
They echo now the owl's shrill cry alone : — 
And yet, with greater reverence, I behold 
Those walls held dear to hearts in every zone. 
O'er which two centuries have already rolled, 
Since, on a young crusade, their gates did first unfold. 

No stir, no clangor tells our coming strife, 
Nor armorer's hammer keeps a busy din 



15 

Yet earnestly the accoutering of life 
Is going on, all noiselessly, within, — 
The trembling youth o'er anxious to begin 
The exciting, active scenes of his career. 
Where strength of arm and skill shall surely win, 
Goes through the daily task year after year, 
"While elders guide, or prove with scrutiny severe. 

A little month, — again the gates shall ope, 
And from the portals, lo ! a comely train 
Of vigorous men, in panoply of hope. 
Armed with strong wills and fortitude 'gainst pain. 
With which, or truce with fortune to obtain, 
Or to her venomed shafts pl'ove obdurate. 
Come forth to battle in a life's campaign. 
Enthusiastic, in their strength elate. 
And with unyielding prowess conquer even fate. 

E'en now I seem to hear the scorner's voice — 
Already in my ears it cries me hush, 
" All is a dream that thus makes life rejoice. 
To wake in terror when 'gainst life you brush ; 
This prowess comes as comes the youthful blush ; 
This picture fair, like frost-work on the pane, 
Dissolves in tears with morning's earliest flush, 
Enthusiastic youth, your strength is vain, 
Awake to what is real, for all you see you feign." 

Back, back thou tempter — let the truth alone, 
Nor, by false lights deceived, try to deceive ; 



16 

To weak submission man is ever prone, 
Let then the coward heart in fate believe, 
And seek, before it comes, a cause to grieve. 
Better the boldness that knows no defeat, 
By such alone does man success achieve. 
And so his greedy fortunes oft may cheat, 
Or, if at length borne down, his fate shall bravely meet. 

Greatness was never made a slave to fate. 
True ever to itself and to its aim ; 
Fortune or first or last will on it wait, 
And bear it onward steadily to fame, 
Then will all ages reverence its name : 
Or should the present day its worth contest ; 
Yet shall the future recognize the claim, 
Nor was a Socrates alone oj^pressed. 
Bright name, by one age damned, and by all others blest ! 

And so full oft the fortunes of each one, 
That seem so fickle, and nowise secure, 
Are in his keeping did he never shun 
The arduous duty that would make them sure. 
Keep, then, thy youthful valor bright and pure. 
And to the promptings of thy soul be true ; — 
'Tis Wisdom's course — ^how pitiful, how poor. 
Who yields him up to every gawd in view, 
Lets slip his early faith such chances to pursue. 

No, it were better Hope and Faith should lead, 
And sometimes bear their follower astray, 



17 

Than that, deserted in the hour of need 
In following Fortune's ever dubious ray, 
By that to be left naked in the way, 
Helpless, and hopeless, and o'ercome at last. 
While to the other brighter grows each day, 
And when upon life's verge at length he'6 cast 
Light marks the path before, and all his cares are past. 

Yet when the young alumnus leaves these halls, — 
A learned man. perhaps, in freshmen's eyes, 
While many honest folk without the walls 
In all that can be known, believe him wise, — 
On every hand how great is his surprise 
As the world's facts unveil them to his sight, 
Or stern and hostile in his pathway rise ; 
Yet start not — for was ever picture bright 
That had not shadows too, as well as lines of light ? 

First, on the threshold, what a shock to find. 
In all that he has given years to gain. 
The utter ignorance of the common mind;-— 
Philosophy has been to useless pain. 
And half our best loved authors lived in vain. 
Sages and scholars, gentle, good, and wise, 
All are unknown, all of the gifted train : 
He turns and finds, when wondering what they prize, 
That bread or broadcloth most the vacancy supplies. 

And bitter is the disappointment, when 

As to the stage of life you are brought nigher. 



18 

You find so few of those ideal men, 
Whose lives should teach us there is something higher 
Than bread, beer, beef, soft couches, rich attire — 
These be the gods to whom the people bend — 
Build thou no altars to them, nor in ire 
Cast from your hands the truth you hold, dear friend, 
Break not the tablets where God's hand the law hath penned. 

And then the freedom that one hopes is his. 
When harried by this discipline no more. 
Should he in trivial things e'er prove amiss, 
No carping scrutiny will vex him sore — 
Alas ! restraints far harsher than before. 
On every side with thorns his pathway flank, 
Still, after tea, boards talk his conduct o'er. 
And scandal still plucks at his social rank. 
Till Mrs. Grundy 's feared e'en more than Tutor Blank. 

Forewarned, so walk that none of these shall wound. 
The good be glad in, evils boldly face. 
And ever true in all we do be found. 
In our own actions our ideals trace, 
Then, as they're true and lovely, lend they grace, 
Earnest alway for manly dignity. 
Yet never scorn the lowliest of the race, 
And, humble in our little worth, to be 
E'er without pride toward those who have less store than we. 

Yet why at such an hour anticipate 

That future which One Prescience only knows. 



19 

The complex plan tliat ignorance calls fate — 
Where man in every act the shuttle throws, 
That bears the varied woof of joys and woes, 
Till the whole pattern is at length complete : 
Yet this we would not, if we could, disclose. 
Who would not from Fate's magic glass retreat. 
As in dark rooms we shrink our mirrored selves to meet. 



Nay, ere the moment passes, while we still, 
Though on the threshold, fondly linger here. 
We turn to those fair scenes we love so well — 
That theme, however old, yet ever dear, 
That falls with spring-like freshness on the ear — 
These, throughout life, our sympathies enchain. 
And start in aged eyes the joyous tear. 
As memories wake that slumbering long have lain 
To these, in parting now, I dedicate my strain. 

The years have swiftly swept away, 

Since first my steps were hither bent. 
Yet, as it were but yesterday, 

Comes back the awe, the wonderment. 
With which I viewed each college hall, 

The green, and every spreading tree, 
For these by Age were hallowed all. 

And had a wondrous charm for me. 
To the time past had centuries fled. 

And high events, soul-stirring thought. 
Their light on Learning's world had shed. 

Since piety this place first sought. 



20 

Made it to Science consecrate, — 

And places sucli as this have worth, 
When half a decade founds a state. 

And each year marks new cities' birth ! 
As I approached, I seemed to feel 

The presence of the mighty throng 
Who here had moved, across me steal 

All the majestic column long. 
That from the first had ever trod 

Their course along the pathways here, 
Or beat in merry round the sod. 

Those whom we honor and hold dear, 
Till my own footsteps lighter fell : 

Fancy, meanwhile, o'erjoyed to invest 
Each object, hallowed by the spell, 

With some historic interest. 

I came with hesitating fears. 

Of what my future here should be, 
Trembled at what revolving years 

Should in these walls unveil to me : 
The scene put on a home-like air. 

And all these feelings wore away ; 
As doth the beauty faces wear 

Lose half its power, seen every day. 
But as the face we come to love. 

Each day that adds to our delight, 
Although its charms cease so to move, 

Still becomes dearer to the sight : 
So, if at any future hour 

'Tis mine to view this college yard. 



21 

Deeper emotions shall o'erpower, 

Association, fond regard ; 
In their subdued and silvery light, 

Each hall, each tree, shall be defined 
In line and shade so clearly bright. 

These genial days will come to mind. 
About me well known signs I'll trace. 

Memorials all around me see, 
Each hall seem a familiar face. 

Each window seem a welcoming eye. 
Yon elm, that spreads its limbs so wide. 

The father of rebellious thought, 
'Twas vain to encircle thee we tried. 

Or shelter 'neath thy branches sought. 
The pump — would he were here who told 

Its many claims to praise so well — 
Brings back those deep-laid plots of old. 

That boastful ones so loved to tell. 
Those queer, square windows, next the roof. 

Have mischief in their frames e'en now, 
So oft they brought a wet reproof 

To hapless youth who strolled below. 
The hour is told, the bell you hear. 

That summoned you to twilight prayers. 
In shine or storm, year after year. 

And this the crowning care of cares ! 

As from the thousand lights below. 
There gleams upon our Eastern sky, 

A light that through the dark doth show. 
Where rests a busy city nigh ; 



22 



So sliall' the memory, if it turn 

To where these youthful hours were spent, 
See o'er this spot a halo burn, 

Of thousand joys together blent. 
The many jovial evenings, when 

Around some table sate 
A merry-making group of men. 

Into the night so late. 
That only their loud song and joke, 

Which neighboring slumberers craze, 
The stillness of the night awoke — 

Or worse, the "infant" Hayes! 
What gaiety of heart was here, 

What freedom from all care. 
As at some ancient gibe they cheer, 

Or German chorus rends the air. 
The joys that Fashion knows, how vain 

Beside what college feasts afford. 
Where sociability doth reign 

Around the frugal board ! 

And, if with paler, steadier rays 

One home-like, happy spot illume — 
Those gentler joys of college days 

That center in the college room. 
When winds are chill, and leafless boughs 

Seem with the wind to moan, and shake, 
When for and near the drifting snows 

A thousand forms fantastic take. 
When the ice clasps the river's floods, 

And ended are all student-cares. 



23 

As welcome, over Earth, night broods. 

Climb with me, then, the darksome stairs. 
How bright the cannel's burning there. 

The curtains drawn, shut out the Night, 
That through the windows else doth, stare. 

The lamp, well-trimmed, is burning bright, 
The slippers old, the easy chair. 

The table piled with many books, 
All have a comfortable air, 

That more to ease than order looks. 
Here, safe from all the woman kind. 

Save only her who wields the broom, 
If perfect comfort man would find, 

There's no place like a college room. 



And happy loves have here begun, 

Through life a love that stronger grows, 
Embracing all that poets have sung, 

Or genial authors told in prose. 
Here came the bard who, versatile, 

With something nearer man than art. 
Like summer's breath, like winter's chill. 

Blows o'er the swaying human heart. 
Bead and re-read, each time found new, 

The story of Cordelia's sire. 
The writhings of the thwarted Jew, 

The madness of the Dane, the fire 
Of love, the dagger dripping blood. 

The "lady wedded to the Moor," 



24 



The faery frolics of the wood, 

Or Prospero's enchanted shore. 
Here the rich organ notes that swell 

With a creation's mysteries, 
The majesty that from heaven fell. 

Did on the trembling ear arise. 
Here watched we how the mark was hit 

So true by Pope's heroic shaft, 
Those couplets, barbed with cruel wit ; 

Or else o'er Goldy's humor laughed ; 
Or trembled lest some homble spell 

Should o'erpower us like the witchery 
That bound the lady Christabel, 

Or the ghostly mariner we should see. 
Here canny Eobin came to us, 

So warm of heart, so free of hand, 
Ye wad na', sure, lay blame to us, 

If foremost 'mong our bards he stand. 
Like moonlight on the sculptured wall, 

Keats burst upon us here, and Gray, 
Whose sweet, scholastic verses fall 

Like some well-ordered fountain's play. 
Here first we knew the kind old man. 

Who did from Eydal Mount rehearse 
Those touching tales of simplest plan 

That ever moved a poet's verse ; 
Yet sometimes would he rise as high 

As ever mortal lips have breathed — 
Kind Time late laid the laurel by. 

That round his brow his country wreathed 



25 

And him, who now the h^urel wears, 

Who taught the mourners round the pall, 
With grief a better lot is theirs, 

" Than never to have loved at all." 
And ye, the bards of our own land, 

Who warm our hearts, while yc wake our pride. 
We're fond of you, we're proud of you, 

And love you more than all beside : 
Our Bryant, singing prairies wild. 

Or weeping o'er the dying flowers ; 
And him whose home looks on the Charles, 

Who minds us of our passing hours, 
Or starts a tear for the maiden's faith. 

Finding a lover only in death. 
Who leads us along the red man's path, 

'Mid famine's chill, or pestilence breath. 
And sweet, as the balmy days of June, 

Whose praises his own sweet verse hath told, 
And lively as ever the Yankee tune 

Did sound in the ear of the volunteer bold, 
As he marched to the halls of Montezuma, 

Led by " Fredum's " original " bird ; " 
Now with laughter loud, now 'mid trickling tears, 

The varied notes of our Lowell we heard. 

[But more tfian all poetry, more than all wit, 
He has touched a deep chord here — 

With a genial kindness we ne'er can forget, 
A gentleness banishing every fear, 

When we drew as humble disciples near ; 

His name and his fame shall be ever held dear, 



26 

Till this heart is cold and this eye is dim — 
For he shared of his store with all around, 

Gave with a spirit worthy of him 

Who sang how the Holy Grail was found.] 

Uunientioned pass I genial Lamb, 

Two-sided Hood, rare Thackeray, 
The first, the great Pickwickian, 

And gentle Irving, dear alway ; 
And who with fiery hand hath fixed 

A burning letter to the page. 
And him, who giveth gold unmixed 

With baser stuff, the Concord sage. 

Thus our favorite authors rise. 

Their lightj borrowed, helps illume, 
Joining with the other joys 

That endear the college room. 
Nor can I turn me from a spot. 

Where so much joy to me has come. 
Careless of him who shared that lot, 

My college wife — my chum. 
But all of these are over now, 

And numbered with the shadowy past, 
I wait to say a single word, 

The saddest duty, and the last. 



Brothers, I'd tune this farewell strain 
To notes of joyousness, not pain ; 



27 

Yet, at the moment, wlio does not feel 
A sorrowful shade 'cross his spirit steal. 
'Tis not alone at leaving a spot, 

Loved and cherished for its thousand joys, 
Where so much of happiness crowns our lot, 

Where so little of pain that gladness alloys ; 
Cherished for all that its wisdom gave. 

Loved for itself, this college life. 
The happiest days this side of the grave, 

Where Youth to Manhood is given to wife. 
All of youth's gaiety, freedom from care, 
Joined to the riper joys older men share ; 
Sadly we go, yet willingly. 

For Time at length has brought us where 
All trivial things are left for aye, 

That our part in the world's busy round we may bear. 
Not these alone our sorrow move, — 
'Tis at leaving now the faces we love ; 
The little knot of friends that each one 
Forms in his heart for himself alone ; 
That best, that choicest society. 
Where Sympathy is the entrance fee ; 
This is a brotherhood closer than kin : 

Those who have read the same books with us. 
Found the same pleasures with us therein — 
Those who have ever kind looks for us, 
Though they tug at an oar we do not pull. 

Where we know in the heart a nook's for us ; 
'Tis at leaving these that the soul is full. 
Eeady to gush at parting these ties. 



For who knows but tlie faces the heart fondly prizes, 

Perhaps never more are to gladen our eyes. 
And the gloomy thought arises, 
Shall Time that heals all wounds so kindly, 

Even the mourner's, loving blindly. 
Dull, as he passes, these friendships of youth, 
Steal from their beauty and strength without ruth. 
Till they're old and wrinkled, and bent, and die. 
And deep in oblivion buried lie? 
Shall affections that flourish luxuriantly here, 

Be crushed, by the weight of cares, from the soul. 
And harsher and harsher, become year by year. 
Till their beauty is lost in a temper severe. 

As the delicate fern in dull heavy coal ? 

Let not, then, when the parting day arrives, 

And friendly hands for the last time press. 
Ere we hurry apart — in the rest of our lives. 

When to meet, where to meet, how to meet, who can guess? 
! let not then farewell be said lightly, 

Nor vows of friendship be lightly spoken. 
But at that hour, ! say them rightly. 

Say those alone that shall never be broken : 
Make not your affections a mockery. 
Then, though Time wither, make bald and gray, 
E'en when the loved forms from the mind fade away, 
Yet shall these flourish, nor ever decay ; 
But while the man lives, his true soul they shall, grace, — 
Like the charm that lingers — wherever we trace 
A kind heart and pure life — in an old man's face. 



POST SCRIPTUM 



I HAVE great antipathy to " Notes with a poem," but a few local allusions 
seem to require explanation, and must be my apology. 

Of my indebtedness to various authors, I have only to say that it will not be 
difiBcult to trace their influence in all I have written ; and besides acknowledging 
my obligations to the favorites I have catalogued elsewhere in rhyme, I would 
quote, with a pleasant contributor to the Harvard Magazine, " May my candle 
be put out when I refuse to confess at whose torch I lighted it." This, too, 
seems the appropriate place to acknowledge that I owe much to another for 
careful and friendly criticism. Perhaps I owe an apology to the Shade of 
Magellan — for one must be civil now that dead men not only tell tales, but 
deal knocks — for giving Balboa the credit of naming, as well as discovering, 
the Pacific ; not the first liberty men have taken with history to serve their 
own purposes, I suspect. 

" To-daj,"— passim, Class-day ; the last day of the academical Senior year, 
after which members of the Class separate. There are exercises by those who 
have appointments on Commencement-day, which is four weeks later, but 
Class-day is virtually the last day of the class in college, for it is seldom that 
all return to Commencement, which is much to be regretted. 

Page 12. Two class-mates. Samuel John Bell, died November — , 1 853, and 
Leonard Donham, died February 25, 1857. 

Page 14. " O'er which two centuries have already rolled. 

Since on a young" crusade its gates did first unfold." 

The first class graduated at Harvard College in 1642. 

Page 15. " A little month— again the gates shall ope." 

Commencement, when members of the Senior Class return to receive their 
bachelors' degree. 

Page 21. "Yon elm— the father of rebellious thought." 



30 



An old elm called the " rebellion tree," since tradition says, when students 
were disposed to " rebel " against college authority, they here assembled with 
Jacobinical speeches and resolves. Of late years, it was a custom which the 
Parietal officers have endeavored to have " more honored in the breach than 
the observance," for the Freshmen to encircle the tree with choral dance and 
song, at the midnight that ushers in the New Year. The attempt in our Fresh 
year resulted in the capture and discomfiture of the brave spirits who 
attempted it. Another equally unsuccessful and disastrous trial was more 
recently made, to which the last lines of the stanza have reference. 

Page 21. " The pump — would he were here who told 
Its many claims to praise so well," 
refers to an excellent article in the Harvard Magazine, volume ii., p. 49. The 
author, a valued friend and class-mate, whom both the government of the col- 
lege and the class would have delighted to honor, had been absent some months, 
from illness, and was unable to join with us in the festivities of the day. 

Page 22. " The 'infant' Hayes." A gigantic policeman in the service of 
the city of Cambridge (?) who shows a fatherly interest in all riotous students. 



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